


Don't promise

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-30 23:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10174886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: When a loved one is suddenly taken away and it's clear that no reaosning can be given as to why, what does the other do? Just what emotions do they go through and how does a one come back from a broken promise of trust and love that was meant to last an eternity?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by JKR. I'm just playing with them for the moment.

**Warnings:** Angst, character death.

A/N: Again, it's no specific timeline, but it is set AU after OoTP.

 

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He hadn’t cried. Not once. Not even when all those around him wept and sobbed uncontrollably. He didn’t even have to hold any tears back when he first saw him and fell to his knees from shock and sheer exhaustion. And not even when they began to lower his body. He didn’t cry when the roses were thrown in, when the dirt was shovelled on. Nor when the whispered sympathies went by him and they left him.

Alone.

For that’s what he was now. He knew he was gone. He could –just barely- accept that. But he couldn’t find it in himself to show anything, any of what he felt inside. It no longer mattered. His lover –his best friend- and soul mate was no longer beside him. The bed would never have his warmth, and he would never make love to him ever again.

The ground was soft, soft with rain that had long been falling. The blades of grass slightly bent with the drops of rain. Parts flattened from all the shoes that had trodden over the space. His shoes were covered in mud. He could hear his lover’s voice in his mind if he were to see them in that state. His hands lay at his sides; head down as he watched more dirt being shovelled. And yet he never noticed the rain.

He never noticed when he sunk to his knees, fingers splayed in the grass griping at the blades, and he never realised when he started whispering to _him_ –to himself- and yet no one. He didn’t pay attention to the strong arms that lifted him up and half carried him half dragged him towards the waiting car. The only one left. He took the offered glass and drank, not bothering –or caring- what it was. He just wanted something to focus –even minutely on. He pulled his mind from the torrent of emotions that wanted to be seen, the spewl of words that begged to be spoken and the tears that whispered to fall. He didn’t notice when darkness silently stole over him and he most certainly didn’t know of the quiet and watchful trek from the car, through the house and to his – _their_ \- room. There was no protest to his clothes being removed in favour of dry ones. And he didn’t know of the black eyes that let both of their tears fall. He never knew of the promise the other whispered to the night. The promise that would keep him near his side.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He hated the looks they gave him, the pitying ones annoyed him more than the knowing ones. He hated the way they watched him when he walked through his house. Eyes cataloguing his every move. His every word –nuance and tone and his appearance as if to compare it to before. He also hater how they asked their idle little questions, how they thought he had nothing to do now, nothing better than to answer them. If it wasn’t from the scores of people who visited him to enquire ‘after’ him, it was the public. He didn’t know who he hated more. Them, for having no respect; or himself for letting them get to him so easily. He had paused on his journey down the stairs when his mind supplied another person. _Him_. He immediately turned and fled back to his rooms.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He stood over the bed in the private room, his breathing ragged and hands gripping the paper sheet covering the bed. He closed his eyes determined to reign his feelings –and power- in. He calmed himself enough to think clearly and wet his dry lips. He knew it shouldn’t have set him off, it had been an innocent enough question from and innocent patient. They didn’t know, they couldn’t have known, not in this world at least. He stared down at the silver and engraved band on his hand. His anger surged, at him and he walked out of the room fixing a straight and patent scowl on his face. He didn’t want those looks from his colleagues either. It would only be more people to become angry at for him.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He knew they were worried. He wasn’t eating, or sleeping if the bag under his eyes were any proof. The way the checked up on him, asking their –by now- daily questions began to grate him, asking as if they were _his_ best friends, they weren’t though. They were his best friends. Yet another hurt that would take time to heal. He pinched his nose no noticing the slight tremble of the table or the lights overhead. He opened his eyes –the life that was in them no longer there- and nodded to them to keep them placated. He didn’t see the curious glances that passed between them as the table stopped trembling. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t their fault, they couldn’t have known and he himself couldn’t have known either. And that left the void. If it wasn’t his; or theirs’ then whose was it? He set his glass on the table and left his two visitors in the sitting room. Not looking back to see the worried expressions directed at his back.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

Two weeks after he was gone he went to his office. He didn’t speak; he rarely did anymore. He closed the door tightly and set the cardboard box on the desk that still had the rolls of parchment ‘awaiting signature’ lying neatly side by side on it. The sun streamed through the window shining on the frames of the moving pictures. He glared at the happy smiling photos of his lover and him. He wasn’t happy nor was he smiling. He was simply being at this point and it angered him. The certificate frames on the walls trembled, the glass in the shattering as a few other frames fell to the floor. The desk rattled as he angrily threw everything into the box that he could reach. He refused to let them fall, held them back and bit his lip hard to distract himself from the burning in his chest and closing of his throat. The door opened of its own accord as he stormed towards it. The ministry workers said nothing to him. The sparks coming of him told them enough.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

It was later in the third week that he saw him. Saw the simpleton that had ruined everything. He stopped eating his sandwich and stood from his table. He narrowed his eyes making sure that it was indeed the same man and strolled out of the café not hearing the waitress telling him he had yet to pay. He didn’t see another pay for him and follow him out. His own feet took him across the road heedless of the oncoming traffic and he stopped in front of the other. Blue eyes widening in recognition, the fool began to back up, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The ministry hadn’t been able to do anything, they couldn’t open an investigation in that world and it was up to the authorities there to do so. But he knew that he would be waiting for a long time for any kind of justice for his lover. The anger and rage bubbled up in him once more. He was well aware of his surroundings, but this…bastard had ruined everything and he couldn’t let him walk free. He would never be punished in a just way. His fingers tingled and his breathing quickened. Just when he was about to make his move darkness claimed him.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He glared at his ‘companion.’ He refused to talk, he had stopped him, stopped him from…killing that piece of filth. His hands clenched the arms of the chair and he picked up the tumbler, made to take a sip but instead threw it at the wall behind the other. He didn’t flinch, simply stared and it angered him more. How could he sit there so _calmly_ while he knew that the man he loved was gone because of the fool in the next room. He closed his eyes, felt the tingling in his fingers again. He could feel the…greasy git sneer at him. For his lack of control. He could hear the waspish comments of past encounters wash over him. And he let loose. For once not caring who he hurt with his fury or what got destroyed in the tornado that engulfed him. His emotions led him and he embraced them. Screaming himself hoarse and letting the magic finally loose. The tingling was spreading over his whole body until everything became a haze to him and finally he fell under the strain.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

The fool laughed at him, had actually smirked and laughed in front of him, laughed even though his hands were tied and he was already bloody and bruised from simply not answering. His emotions so close to the surface now after his little ‘performance’ yesterday left him unable to push them into the corner of his mind. A whispered spell left the fool on the floor writhing and screaming in agony. But still he wouldn’t answer his question. Finally he had had enough and he whispered a second incantation and held him there, enjoying the whimpers and 'please's' that ensued. And then he stopped. The body still convulsing on the hard floor. It was then that he got his answer _‘because I could’_ and it didn’t solve anything. Nothing had changed in the span between not knowing and knowing. His mate was still gone. And he was angry at him for it.

Hated him almost…

…for leaving.

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He stormed the halls of the school. The halls empty. He went to the seventh floor, determined to find answers. This was a school of magic and there had to be something somewhere in the school that could help him. The room appeared…blank. He seethed in anger and cursed. The threw curses across the room unprepared for when they were returned and just barely ducking in time. He clenched his teeth together and rained down more curses upon the room. Upon the invisible shadows and each time the curses and hexes returned to him with twice as much ferocity. They began to come with him without the words. His mind supplying them while the words from his mouth spilled forth the spite and anger at how it had turned out –it was never meant to be this way!- yet each curse cam back at him, testing and angering him; strengthening and draining him and healing him. When his strength failed him and his magic would no longer flow from his hands, then he whispered. He whispered to the air of the room, to the ghosts and students that couldn’t hear him. He whispered to the magic of the school and the gods of the earth and to his lover.

Whispered for them to just tell him, to answer his plea.

Why?

_~*~*~*~*~*~_

He felt the room shift round him. He could feel the magic of the castle shifting… accepting of something he didn’t understand. He felt the room grow cold. Not a cold that made him shiver though, rather a chill that seeped into and then warmed him from the inside. A warmth that embraced him and a wind that sang to him lifting his spirits and healing the physical wounds of his rage. The ground under him trembled and he felt it become softer and there was a light rain that fell from blue sky that was now overhead. Opening his eyes and staring in mild confusion…he knew he hadn’t left the castle. He could still ‘see’ the walls of the room, and suddenly he felt a hand cupping his cheek and felt that all too familiar warmth that enveloped him and made his knees go weak. There was a translucent form in front of him yet he could feel the touch that was unmistakable. Against his will memories came forth of all their times together...

_…the impressive fight in the Great Hall that led them both to receive two weeks worth of detentions with Professor Snape as well as a talk with Professor Dumbledore and the trip to the hospital wing afterwards as well as a lecture from Madame Pomfrey about teenage hormones…_

_…the second quidditch match of the year when both teams stopped play because they had both ended up in a tangle of limbs on the ground, both of them holding the snitch and despite the fact that one or both had cheated they were laughing…_

_…the quick kisses the stole at the Christmas ball while holding face for those around them. Neither feeling patient enough to wait until the party was officially over they both sneaked out under cover of an invisibility cloak…_

_…the unmistakable tones that belonged to the Slytherin Head of house as he caught them in out of bounds and after curfew and demanding an explanation as to what they were each up to…_

_…the first spike of surprise as soft kisses and fumbles moved onto clothes littering the floor followed by passion that left them both reeling and speechless in the face of the others love…_

_…the sight of rising smoke from the Forbidden Forest and the flash of curses being thrown and shaking of the walls of the castle…_

_…his lover falling as out of nowhere they were attacked as they walked passed his place of work…_

_…the tears rolling down the pale face as his blonde hair stuck to his forehead, help coming too late for his lover…_

Slowly the hand withdrew and the sudden spike in anger rapidly faded leaving him drained and on his knees as he closed his eyes willing them not to fall. All of his whispers slipping from his lips and the loving words from his lover caressing him at the same time. Soon weariness overtook him and his eyes began to get heavy as he fought the exhaustion. Eventually the hands cupped his cheek, the pads of the thumbs smoothing his cheek as the tears leaked through and emerald eyes finally opened to see... see if it was indeed real, only to find it wasn’t. Only to see the fading of his own magical rage. The wind dying down and the room’s walls slowly coming back into focus, the ground shifted and he felt the concrete under him and his breathing in laboured puffs as he fought to keep himself upright. The walls were scorched black and in the sea of white that surrounded him stood the one person that had been there since he lost his lover, the remembrance of a spoken promise from the lips that he would never feel again. He looked up pleading, hoping that at least he was real and he received a nod in return. And finally the tears broke free, the sobbing leaving him heaving for breath as he looked down. The silver band caught the light reflecting the multitude of colours along the white wall. And it was a simple bond that had kept them together, and now it was a solemn promise that had been broken. His chest shuddered and he leaned back, surprised when he found the potion master laying a hand on him, comforting in his own private way. There was an intake of breath from the other when the younger shook his head, tears still falling, -silently telling him that it wasn’t necessary- the silent plea for him not to…

…promise.

And so he didn’t. Understanding the pain of one broken and the need as they both tried to say goodbye in their own private way.

_FIN_

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